


Rursus

by Artistic_Author



Series: Tales Of The Riddle-Gaunt Family [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anti-Muggle Content, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Bottom Harry Potter, Courting Rituals, Dark Harry, Dark Sirius Black, F/M, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Good Death Eaters, Good Severus Snape, Good Slytherins, Hermione Granger Bashing, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Implied Mpreg, Insane Harry, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Master of Death Harry Potter, Molly Weasley Bashing, Mpreg, Muggle-Hater Harry Potter, Rimming, Ron Weasley Bashing, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Time Travel, Top Voldemort (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18838783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artistic_Author/pseuds/Artistic_Author
Summary: Again, really?Harry has to do this shit all over again.Fuck.Or,As Master of Death, one cannot simply die in peace; Harry learns this after he is sentenced to be kissed and instead of fluffy angels and cotton candy clouds and long-lost loved ones, he's thrown into a spinning whirlpool of time until he comes to a halt, in the arms of his supposed to be dead mother.Harry was fucked.





	1. Some Things Never Change...

**Author's Note:**

> The title 'Rursus' means 'Again' in Latin. Fitting right?
> 
> See end notes for a sneak peak of Chapter Two: A Little More...

It was cold. It was always cold here.

Harry hated the iciness cutting and piercing his skin, but it was nothing new, and he should be accustomed to it by now.

Then again, he was in Azkaban.

Whether it be the dementors or the fact the dingy prison was located in the middle of the sea, where the wind was ruthless and thunderstorms frequented, Azkaban would always be forever cold. The screams were, unfortunately, also a recurrent noise, playing 24/7 like a song set on repeat,

 _albeit a blessing in disguise_ , Harry supposed, _for quite a few reasons._

The little, sometimes annoying, hindrance of the screams however was that trying to get any sleep was challenging and doubtful, especially with the dementors drifting and lurking around every corner, every window and, strangely enough, Harry encountered one on the ceiling; bringing forth memories in the form of nightmares or, for the less sane ones, hallucinations.

 _After all, who knows a dementor that brings out all the sparkles and joy and fluffy unicorns in people._ Harry snickered at the thought.

The dementors steered clear of him most of the time anyway, so he really didn't care what they did. Harry was curious about the fact in his first few weeks back but eventually summed it up as a Master of Death thing.

He didn't really know that much about being Master of Death, though what he did know, in his very short experience that is, was that so far being the Master of Death was straightforward enough, most of the time anyway.

Harry had, had only two encounters with Death. The first was when he had gained the last of the three Deathly Hallows, even then he didn't say much, just casually dropped by with a stack of old leather books, plopped them into his fumbling hands and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Harry managed to get through three of those books with Death watching soaps on the television before he was once again captured and sent back to his lovely prison cell.

The second time, Death had put effort into making an entrance, as much as materializing from the shadows like a creep and sending the dementors scattering can do. Death stood there for an hour, silent and observing, until finally he spoke. Harry decided rather quickly that Death being silent was better than Death talking as, Harry learned, Death was a cryptic son of a bitch, speaking with riddles and questions and something about expecting an answer soon?

"A murderer is condemned to death. He must choose one of the three options given. May he be warned as in the first there dwell the long passed. May he be ready as the second is a wildcard, vast and unpredictable. May he be brave, as the third could be a start to his ending. Which one do you think he will choose, Master?"

and sinking to the floor, becoming one with the shadows.

Needless to say, Harry was not creeped out. Not at all. Harry was so NOT creeped out that he even thought of Death as rude, especially considering Deaths retreat left hundreds of tiny fluttering butterflies in his place, making quite the mess of his homey cell.

Harry doesn't remember when his bleak and dreary cell begun to feel like a home. Harry suspects it was when he started decorating the walls the first-time round, the guards had refused to give him any paint, so as a last resort he used his blood. Then again it could be the fact that he has slept and sat in this cell for more than 500 days.

Harry mostly doodled his children. Even thinking about his beautiful children brought a sad smile to his face. How he missed his brave son, James and his handsome little Slytherin, Albus, and oh, how often he had dreamed of holding his sweet, gentle Lily in his arms again. Harry wished with everything he had to see them again, just once more.

But Death had promised they were in a happier place than they were before.

Harry had escaped Azkaban once. Just once. He had gotten his revenge but had lost his children in return. And it was all because of that old fuck Albus Dumbledore, it was his manipulations, his games, that started young oblivious Harry down this path; and Harry had willingly followed along, like a good little pawn, ready to sacrifice himself for the 'greater good'.

Harry remembered vividly the moments leading up to his escape, even thinking about the looks on their faces as they realised, he was coming for them, to kill them, never fails to send a shiver of euphoria down his spine.  

 

                                                                                       --_ **\--_--_--_--_--_--_--**

 

It was his 137th day in Azkaban. Ginny, Ron and Hermione had stopped visiting on his 23rd, and along with them, the children.

For a while he thought it was because of the dementors. Harry knew that too much exposure to the dementors was damaging, especially for children, so he thought nothing of it.

That was until he snatched an old edition of the Daily Prophet that a passing by guard had discarded. Harry was caught by another guard, but his pleading had won the round and he mentally celebrated his small victory, even though the paper wasn't free.

Harry marvelled at how long it had been since he had felt the soft velvet touch of a piece of parchment. The price, a blowjob, was almost worth it. 

But that all changed once he read the title and skimmed through the paper. He re-read it multiple times, slowly so he could read every word written, but no matter how much he stared the inky words were still stained permanently on the parchment.

Harry was livid.

 

_**BOY-WHO-LIVED A DARK LORD!** _

_The Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter's imprisonment shocked us all, and though many of my lovely readers have denied the fact that our saviour, Harry Potter, is anything but light, I am here to reveal the truth. And the truth, ladies and gentlemen, is that our saviour, Harry Potter, is truly a dark lord._

_It was saddening to hear that our own Boy-Who-Lived has turned dark, but, the proof, as revealed by Albus Dumbledore, is that the night You-Know-Who murdered Lord James Charlus Potter and Lily Willow Potter nee Evans and was killed in his failed attempt to murder Harry James Potter; was also the night the Boy-Who-Lived became a horcrux!_

_And even more shockingly, Albus Dumbledore revealed that the piece of You-Know-Who' s soul has corrupted our saviour!_

_After interviewing the Aunt and Uncle of the failed dark lord, all the pieces fell together. As it turns out, Harry Potter had been a disruptive and horrid child, just like You-Know-Who was when he was younger, a sure sign that the horcruxes' corruption had started early on._

_Understandably his friends and family were shocked and angry. His best friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley, were horrified that they're friend had become the very thing he had spent most of his school days fighting. Mrs. Granger-Weasley admits that she suspected that something like this would happen because of the many red flags she saw while growing up with him, but she still clung to the hope that it was just her imagination._

_Harry Potters' poor wife, Ginerva Potter was distraught. When I, your beloved writer, Rita Skeeter interviewed young Ginerva, she was heartbroken and couldn't believe the man she married had become He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named reincarnated._

_But Mrs. Potter faced another huge dilemma, how was she going to care for her children? Afterall, Harry Potter was the only one of the pair working._

_Fortunately for Mrs. Ginerva Potter, Albus Dumbledore, now thrice saviour of the wizarding world, and once Harry Potters' magical guardian remedied the problem rather quickly. Only weeks after the dilemma was found, Mrs. Ginerva Potter is now the first Lady Potter after decades! Lady Ginerva Potter has access to all Potter accounts and is living comfortably in a large mansion near her parents and siblings with her darling children._

_Lady Ginerva Potter has generously awarded 30,000 galleons to her loving brother, Ronald Weasley and sister-in-law, Hermione Granger-Weasley, who supported her through this short fiasco, along with 70,000 galleons to a tearfully thankful Albus Dumbledore with specially granted access to 37 properties owned by the Potter family all around the globe._

_For more information on Horcruxes, turn to page 3,_

_For the full interview with Harry Potter's aunt and uncle, turn to pages 5-7_ **,**

_For more information on The Potter Family Tree, turn to pages 9-10._

 

Harry could only gaze down at the parchment; his hands clenching the sides vigorously, scrunching the pages.

Harry wasn't livid anymore, but he couldn't identify the feeling that left a deep churning in his stomach. Was it shock? Betrayal? Disbelief?

The feeling was familiar, that much he knew. It felt like he was back at the Dursleys' again, the sharp, unsettled pain in his belly begging for food; Harry knew it wasn't for food though, It was hunger, but not for food.

Harry fell forward, his head banging sharply against the cool, jagged wall. It was the first of many, as he found the pounding in his head lessened the familiar hunger. Harry copied the action, losing count after thirteen. He was aware of the whispered words he spoke in his croaked, dry voice.

"Fake" Bang.

"Fake" Bang.

"Fake, it was all fake" Bang, bang.

"Lies, they were using you, yes, only using you...but why, why use me?" Bang, bang, bang,

Harry stopped.

Red.

_Such a beautiful colour._

There was blood pouring down his face, sliding over his eyes and making his eyelashes stick to his skin uncomfortably, like cheap glue; rolling down his cheeks and into his mouth, it tasted like metal and iron. Harry found he quite liked the taste.

"For the money. For the fame..."

Harry felt a sinister smile creeping onto his face, his eyes undoubtedly gleaming the exact shade of the killing curse.

Harry now new why the feeling was familiar.

He was thirsty. For blood. For revenge. Harry wanted to rip and tear them apart piece by piece, quench his thirst by gulping down their blood, torture them to the brink of insanity with hallucinations, only to place false hope in their hearts and heads and kill them mercilessly.

Harry hissed heatedly,

" _How dare they use me! I'll kill them, yesss, they will pay!"_

The sinister smile returned. _But first a plan, I'll need a plan._

With his index finger, Harry gathered the wet, crimson blood onto his fingers, sliding them against the wall and manipulating the blood into parselscript.

All he needed was a lot of patience and a plan.

Harry will get his revenge.

-_-

38 days.

That was all it took.

Now, Harry was ready. The plan would begin tonight.

An echoing whack to the bars caught his attention, it was a guard, holding a thick rod of metal and trying to scare the other prisoners. Harry tilted his head and blinked; _Isn't that a muggle weapon?_ It looked like it would hurt if skin were to be its target.

There was another guard, leaning casually against the wall and ignoring the first, Harry thought he might be staring into space, but he didn't show any outwards reactions to the loud thwack. Harry guessed he was just bored.

_Isn't everyone in Azkaban._

The guards chattered amongst themselves, occasionally barking in laughter. Harry observed them in bemusement, there usually weren't guards in this section, they thought us too weak to try and escape.

_Pfft dunderheads._

_Oh god, I sound like Snape._

Harry shook his head.

His eyes sweeping between the guards as they talked to each other, Harry quickly felt the growing headache.

Harry mentally referred to the first guard as Shrimp and the second as Stringy; Harry naturally decided these alternative names because of the strong nauseating smell of a seafood odour and spit slicked stringy hair that looked as if it had just rained, respectively.

Shrimp noted Harry observing them under the coverage of his shoulder length hair and raised his voice even more while talking with Stringy. Harry didn't think much of it; it was difficult to hold a conversation in this hell hole, especially with all the noise, that was until he heard them saying his name. Harry, not so shockingly, gathered that they wanted him to hear their conversation, to taunt him.

Harry hastily dropped his eyes to the floor and tried to appear disinterested, his hair covering his face like a curtain, but the damage was done, and the guards were approaching closer,

"Look at poor Potter, an ugly whore of a wife, bastard children and no friends, how sad"

Harry quivered in rage at the mention of his children, how dare Shrimp, his children were beautiful and smart,

 _better looking than your fat arse,_ Harry almost hissed at him, but refrained.

The last time he hissed insults and curses at a guard in parseltongue he had been beaten until he was bloody and bruised and on the verge of unconsciousness, then left to lay slouched on the floor to lick his wounds.

Stringy decided to have at it as well,

"Aw, is Potter crying?" Stringy taunted in fake sympathy, following his act with fake sniffles and clenched fists rubbing at his eyes like a toddler.

Shrimp cuffed Stringy on the head, rolling his eyes at the idiot,

"Don't be daft Butterworth, dark lords don't cry, do they Potter" He sneered in disgust.

Harry felt the thirst for blood rising like lava in his belly, stronger and more vicious than before. He whispered in parseltongue, the laughing guards ignorant to his desire, chanting and trying to quell the feeling for just a few more minutes and then, hopefully, they would leave,

" _Patience. Patience. Patience"_

Shrimp continued, Harry felt his control slipping,

"I've always wondered, why? Why betray the light? You could have been the next Minister of Magic, have the hottest bitch in Europe and a million-galleon mansion. So why?"

Shrimp strutted along the length of his cell, his metal pole clanging on the bars with every step, giving Harry another headache.

He paused,

"Aftermath of the war, perhaps?"

Clang,

Clang,

Clang,

Another pause.

"Or maybe it's because of that filthy horcrux in your head, tell me Potter, did you enjoy killing Voldemort, I bet you did."

Stringy slapped Shrimp on the shoulder, chortling and snarling viciously at Harry,

"Who fucking cares! He could have been Voldemorts' dirty little whore all this time and it doesn't change the fact that he's nothing but a vile, filthy, freak-"

Harry snapped, lunging forward and grasping they're robes through the bars.

Screams echoed on the prison walls, agony laced with fear and panic. Harry shredded and broke into they're skin with his teeth, blood splatters ruining his carefully crafted plan on the wall. Torn bits of flesh were discarded uselessly to the floor, already pooling with blood.

No guards came running at the noises of distress. They screamed and cried for help but went ignored. Guards from other areas simply rolled their eyes at a typical day with the noise being higher than average, rubbing at their temples to try and rid themselves of the horrible headaches.

Harry gouged at their eyeballs until they were hollowed pits filling with blood, dug his bloodied and crusted fingers into the wounds where he tore away the skin, breaking away the muscle and pulling ruthlessly at the bone when it didn't break immediately. His black and white striped prison robes were sopping with wet blood, colouring them a beautiful crimson red, squirts of blood landing on his skin and splattering on his tongue, he savoured the taste.

When Harry quenched his thirst, the bodies were mangled and mauled, disfigured to the point where their faces were unrecognizable. Harry cackled insanely and sucked on his bloodies fingers, drinking and licking every drop of blood he could salvage.

Harry didn't care to wonder about the oddity of butterflies in his cell.

 

-_-

 

Albus Dumbledore was having a great day.

He had woken from his slumber to the gentle trill of his phoenix, Fawkes, in one of the many beautiful houses Lady Ginerva Potter had gifted him. (Albus believed this one was in Spain.)

After dressing himself in his favourite orange and purple robes he apparated to Hogwarts, whistling off-key as he neared his office to prepare for the new batch of children and a new school year. Albus had a rather long chat with the sorting hat again about placing Lily Luna Potter in the right house and a scrumptious breakfast prepared for him by the house elves.

Now he rested on his grand headmaster chair in the middle of the great hall. The sorting ceremony was done and forgotten as first years scarfed down the buffets at their tables, chattering and screaming noisily. Albus found it quite annoying.

But on a happier note, he was glad that he had gotten through to the sorting hat who listened to his lecture and placed the last of the Potter children, Lily Luna, into Gryffindor, like her brother James Sirius. Unfortunately, the child who he shared a namesake with was a disappointment, being sorted into Slytherin. Albus kept an eye on Albus Severus, just in case he had to pull some strings in the future to land him in a prison cell next to his father.

Thinking of The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die made Albus smile in pleasure, the plan had gone exceptionally well, with a few minor setbacks, nothing Albus couldn't fix. He had, had to send the brat to Azkaban since he didn't sacrifice himself during the battle. Of course, his life would have been much easier if the brat had listened and killed himself for the greater good, after all he was a horcrux; he was the only thing stopping the defeat of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And Severus, if only he had seen the bigger picture and understood that one little boy was insignificant and followed his plans.

Oh well.

No matter.

Things had worked out according to plan. Albus was once again the saviour of the wizarding world, for the third time now, locking the Potter brat up had, had the same effect of killing Tom Riddle, so all was fine. He had ownership of 37 beautiful houses and villas all around the world and thousands to spend on whatever he wanted or desired at any time, much more convenient than taking money from the Potter accounts.

Albus gave himself a pat on the back.

He reached absentmindedly for a sherbet lemon, only for his fingers to feel the cool glass of an empty bowl. Albus sighed, catching Minerva McGonagalls' attention as she turned to look at him with her sharp, grey eyes, glasses an inch away from sliding of her nose and onto the floor.

"I guess a trip to Hogsmeade is in order." Albus said, sounding resigned. Minerva chortled lightly and scolded Albus playfully,

"One day Albus, those sugary monstrosities are going to be your downfall,"

Albus chuckled deeply in his old throat, standing up and letting his glittery purple and neon orange robes fall to the ground, and billowing around his feet,

"Isn't it worth it, Minerva. After all those 'sugary monstrosities' are very delicious"

Minerva rolled her eyes and shooed him away, knowing how cranky he could get without his 'precious' sherbet lemons.

Albus quickly walked to Hogsmeade, whistling happily as the snow crunched beneath his feet and the seductive aroma of pastries and cocoa lured him closer, making Albus hum in contentment. He especially enjoyed strolling through Hogsmeade, and it was even better without no loud, idiotic children frolicking around.

Even with his old ears he heard sharp, scared voices directed around the corner, and as curiosity got the best of him, he followed the awful attempt at whispers. There was a group of about 60 people hovering and pushing around one small area, it didn't escape Albus' notice that they had a new edition of the Daily Prophet crunched in their hands.

Albus stalked closer.

A tall lady with greying brown hair and a sunken pale face stumbled into him, clutching at his robes like a lifeline, her large, lost and frightened eyes staring around like she was in another world entirely. Albus shook her,

"Young lady, may I ask what has you so petrified?"

She ignored him, muttering to herself repeatedly as tears begun to fill her eyes. Albus couldn't understand what she was muttering, it was like gibberish. He leaned in closer, so his ear was almost next to her cheek then reeled back quickly at the absurdity of what she was saying.

"He's going to kill them; he's going to kill them all"

The tears finally fell to her cheeks as she let out ugly sobs and rubbing her snot in Albus' robes. His favourite robes! Albus took a deep breath to calm himself, now was not the time.

He was sure this lady had gone mad, he tried asking again, gripping her elbows with a bruising force, he didn't care if he hurt her, hopefully it would bring her back to reality. Albus shook her more harshly, he needed answers, and he needed them now,

"Miss, please answer the question."

She continued mumbling her craziness to herself. Albus was getting really annoyed with this old hag,

"Answer the bloody question!"

She ignored him yet again and continued mumbling her madness until Albus had, had enough, pushing her away harshly as she stumbled into a wall and started throwing up in the corner.

The sound of her retching was making Albus feel nauseous himself, but he continued onwards towards the crowd. Albus spotted another man, more composed, engrossed in the Daily Prophet. Albus quickly snatched it out from his hands, the paper miraculously not tearing, to see what this absolute nonsense was about.

The man startled and looked up angrily into the eyes of a moody Albus Dumbledore, he got up right in Albus' face and opened his mouth in a shout,

"Hey! That's min-"

Albus was not in the mood for this; today had been a perfectly good day and now it had been ruined. Ruined!

He was Albus Dumbledore, no one yelled at him like he was a senile old man, he yelled at the incompetent fools. He got up right in the younger man's face, copying what the man had done to him, Albus felt a vindictive sense of satisfaction as the man tried to stagger and hide from the oncoming of spit. He yelled back at him, the spit splattering on the mans face. The man, hastily trying to wipe it off was covered in another onslaught of saliva,

"Do you know who I am!? I am Albus Dumbledore, you idiotic foo-"

Albus paused suddenly, his yelling hung pregnant in the air as he simply stared. The man, taking the opportunity, quickly staggered away from the crazy old goat, letting him have the paper, it was only two sickles anyway, and everyone would hear about it eventually.

The title of today's Daily Prophet caught his eye, the big bold letters causing fear to overcome him, and the pictures of mauled men in front of a familiar numbered cell sending shivers down his spine.

No, Albus Dumbledore didn't feel fear, he was feared.

He shook harshly with unbending rage, his 'fear' was long gone. But the sentence repeated itself many times before it processed in his mind. Albus roared in rage, uncaring of the other people around him, staring and whispering and even giggling, he didn't care about the flashes of cameras as he ripped the paper into two, three, four pieces and threw it to the floor, stomping on the trampled paper in his own little tantrum,

And somewhere, on a rooftop, a cackling laugh pierced the sky, sending the crows skyward.

 

**_HARRY POTTER Has ESCAPED From AZKABAN!_ **

 

                                                                                --_ **\--_--_--_--_--_--_--**

   

The creaky sound of an opening cell brought Harry back from his thoughts, he grinned when a familiar brown-haired guard cautiously walked inside.

Harry remembered this guard; he was fun to play with, especially when he got easily flustered. It had become one of his favourite pass times to tease him and act seductively to get him squirming.

For a moment, Harry wondered why the guard had willingly walked into his humble aboard, usually he'd keep a wide distance between them; but then he remembered his trial.

Of course.

Harry was stupid not to cover his tracks properly, bathing in the afterglow of revenge and the cloud of grief had blinded him. His freedom hadn't even lasted three weeks before he was taken back to Azkaban.

The guard cleared his throat and held in his hands metal anti-magic chains that had been hidden behind his back.

"Mr. Potter, I will be escorting you to the courtroom where you are to stand before the council for your trial. Please do not resist and comply"

Harry scoffed, as if he was going to resist. It might be hard to believe but revenge wasn't the only thing on his mind when he escaped from Azkaban; although it played a major part in it. Harry had wanted to see his children, but of course, now that would never happen.

Ever.

They shackled about a hundred sets of chains around his body; Harry felt flattered that they thought he had this much magical power.

Well, he did.

But they didn't need to know that.

There was one huge chunk of metal wrapped tightly around his neck like a collar, as if he were a dog. At least two chains tying his hands and feet together, and another two to attach the chains from his wrists to his ankles.

Four more guards walked in and dragged him forcibly, not even giving him enough time to say goodbye to his home, to the courtroom. The chains rubbed roughly at his pale wrists and by the time they had arrived, they were red and sore, already beginning to bruise.

He didn't feel the pain, he felt relief.

Finally, he was going to die.

He had been waiting for this, the sweet relief of escaping this horrid world.

Harry would surely miss the feel of his magic wrapped around him, and his dislike for those weak muggles would always burn hot in him; but Harry found himself wondering, if he had stayed hidden with the Dursleys', would he have lived a normal live? Would he be able to be walk through the streets, no pressure on his shoulders and no lingering stares? Could he embrace who he truly was, to make the simple decisions everyone has without having consequences? To have a family that loved him, not for money or fame, but for him?

Despite how much he loathed Dumbledore, Harry grudgingly admitted he was right. It does not do well to dwell on dreams.

They had walked through what looked like the same corridor for at least an hour now, all with the same dull grey walls decorated with cobwebs, cells running down the sides of the walls holding screaming prisoners. Some even daring to try and lunge towards one of the guards assembled around him, only to be whacked with a baton, which Harry learned was the name of the metal pole thingy.

They reached an apparition point; it had been almost three years since he had apparated, and the spinning had become unfamiliar to him, he felt a small bout of nausea creep on him.

When Harry gathered his bearings, he stood before hundreds: wizards and witches, prissy council members, gossiping citizens and nosy reporters with they're stupid flashy cameras.

Harry felt a bit panicked at the crowded space, but he stood stoic. He wouldn't let these light mudblood lover bastards turn their noses up at him.

They positioned him to stand in the middle of the room, facing the Minister of Magic.

It was when Harry surveyed the room that he noticed the dementors that floated above, ready and waiting to taste his, no doubt delicious, soul, he guessed. The Minister of Magic cleared his throat and forced Harrys attention towards him.

"Harry James Potter, you stand before the council on the accusation of murdering: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Ginerva Molly Potter, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, Ronald Arthur Weasley, James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter and Lily Luna Potter, and on accounts of the planned destruction of two towns which killed 67 muggles. Witnesses, both muggle and wizard kind, have already given statements on the case, therefore you will be dosed with three drops of Veritaserum to prove either your guilt or your innocence."

An Auror strode over and held his jaw with a bruising grip, forcing his mouth open and planting three droplets of the clear, tasteless liquid on his tongue. Harry had no choice but to swallow, as the Auror clasped a hand over his mouth and nose to hold his breathing.

A middle-aged woman stood in front of him, the click clacking of her heels was giving him a headache. She wore what appeared to be a muggle business suit.

He sneered.

She glowered at him but caught herself and cleared her throat, clutching her clipboard.

Harry would have said that she looked and acted like another Umbridge, but stopped himself, that was just rude.

The, clearly muggleborn, woman started asking the stationary questions,

"What is your name?"

His mouth felt numb, and he couldn't control its movements, despite this it was bearable; what made him slightly more panicked was the fact that his eyes were blurred at the edges. He kept his posture guarded and his gaze focused, intent on keeping observation of his surroundings, even though there were wards in place, he wouldn't be surprised if someone sent a curse his way.

"Harry James Potter" She ticked something on her clipboard,

"How old are you?"

"38"

The woman gave a sharp nod to the Minister, non-verbally telling him that the serum was effective. He gave the action for her to carry on.

"Were you responsible for the death of Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley?"

Harry grit his teeth, but the answer soon forced its escape despite his many tries to reject the Veritaserum, he was never good at Occlumency,

"Yes"

A quiet murmur passed through the crowd; the Minister allowed it as it was not a distraction to the trial. He felt himself smirking, finally he was getting rid of the brat, the magical world will only show devotion and love to him and only him, the Minister of Magic.

His undersecretary continued,

"Were you responsible for the death of your brother-in-law, Ronald Arthur Weasley?"

"Yes"

The murmurs increased through the crowd, but the noise didn't affect the trial,

"Were you responsible for the death of your wife, Ginerva Molly Potter?"

Harry could feel the glares of many at his back and hear the names that they called him, but he held his head high,

"Yes"

There was a reaction.

Molly Weasley burst from the crowd, her wild ginger hair knotted and flying in her angered, red face. She screeched at him and tried to lunge only to be restrained by a handful of Aurors and silenced, by the movement of her lips, Harry suspected that it was not for children to hear, and there were plenty of children watching.

Harry acknowledged her for a second before turning to face the muggleborn. Harry had to give her credit; she was unfazed during the whole situation while the so-called Minister was thoroughly startled, springing three feet out of his seat in fear,

"Were you responsible for the death of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?"

Harry smirked, holding his head higher. He refused to feel anything less than proud of this accomplishment and he had no qualms admitting it,

"Yes" He stated boldly, almost chirpily.

Gasps and cries of outrage sounded behind him. The Minister, fruitlessly, shouted at everyone to quiet down, but his voice was merely a whisper through the overpowering crowd. The muggleborn positioned her wand to her throat, quickly muttering a "Sonorus" and yelling,

"SILENCE!"

Everyone quieted down, but by no means did that stop the spitted threats and death glares that could bury him from the sheer intensity. The minister smiled appraisingly towards the woman,

"Thank you, Delilah" 

The woman let a smug smile grace her face before flushing and continuing the trial.

"Were you responsible for the destruction of Privet Drive and Ottery St. Catchpole, which killed a total of 67 muggles?"

"Yes"

Harry could hear their insults, very clearly in fact, their mutterings of 'failed dark lord', 'the-boy-who-turned-dark', and, his favourite, 'not worth his parents sacrifice'. It amused him to no end, but he knew what was coming next, and the amusement departed.

"Mr. Potter, did you kidnap and kill your eldest son, James Sirius Potter?"

Harry bowed his head, so they wouldn't see how the grief welled in his eyes and muttered an answer,

"Yes"

More shocked gasps.

People couldn't believe that the-boy-who-lived had gone so low. Children were a blessing by magic herself and to be cherished, to murder a child was practically sentencing your death.

Harry smiled bitterly, why had he been an exception to this rule? Why had he been placed with the Dursleys', not knowing about this world, despite his parents' will?

"Did you kidnap and kill your second son, Albus Severus Potter?"

He let his head hang lifelessly as another knife pierced his heart. Tears built up in the corner of his eyes,

"Yes"

The woman, Delilah, was shaking with either barley-controlled rage, and after gulping down a deep breath of air, the noise seemingly echoing around the silent room, gave the last question; the one that would end his life.

"Did you kidnap and kill your youngest child and only daughter, Lily Luna Potter?"

Harry chocked back a sob and his dead eyes settled on his bare dirtied feet,

"Yes"

Delilah walked towards the rows, her heels clicking and clacking, and sat in her seat. The Minister cleared his throat and gestured for the antidote to be transmitted.

The Aurors spelled numerous blocking and silencing charms to surround him so that he wasn't able to here the verdict of his trial, even though it was obvious what it was going to be.

Finally, the wards dropped.

The minister let another smirk slip onto his pug-like face before reading the verdict,

"Harry James Potter, you have been found guilty of all charges. The money accumulated in your vaults will be used to rebuild the muggle towns of which you destroyed and to pay compensation to the wizarding families in which you have taken a life from. Furthermore, you will be stripped of all your titles and sentenced to be kissed. Effective immediately."

There was a sharp tug on his entire body when they stripped him of his titles, unpleasant but bearable.

Harry closed his eyes as they removed the charms separating the dementors from the trial room, he could feel the coldness seeping through his skin as one floated to face him.

It reminded him of Azkaban.

Harry felt a vicious pull like the dementor was peeling away at his skin. He eyes felt fuzzy and heavy, and he wondered if he was dying or losing consciousness, Harry hoped for the former.

Finally, he fell limp, falling, not-so-gently, to the hard-wooden floor, a numb feeling embraced his body and he smiled, that expression stayed on his face, even after they carried his body off to dispose of.

Death appeared and observed silently in the corner of the room, invisible to the humans that were greedily watching in satisfaction as his pets removed his master's soul and rejoicing when he was removed.

Death studied the situation. His master definitely had potential but was, in friendly terms, lacking in any saneness.

Death mentally calculated the path that would most benefit him in particular, all the deaths that his master would gift him. His master would change the world, for better, for worse, Death didn't really care. All he wanted to do was eat the sinned souls of humans and wizards, all the deaths his little lord would commit would give him a feast.

Death gave a crooked, snarly smile and vanished, the butterflies sending dementors scattering across the other end of the room.

Fate didn't know what card he had up his sleeve.

-_-

Harry felt listless and light, like he was floating.

This was the first time in a long while that Harry felt...happy. He didn't want to wake from this relaxing slumber, but his traitorous curiosity got the best of him and his eyes groggily opened so he could absorb his surroundings, only to be painfully disappointed.

Nothing.

There was absolutely nothing.

Harry twisted and turned, searching left and right, up and down but it was all blank. Harry didn't know what he expected, maybe his children or his parents, he didn't know. He felt a sort of relief at not having to face his children though, Harry doesn't think he'd be able to, especially after what he'd done to them.

Feeling slightly dejected he turned again, hoping to go back to his relaxing slumber, and froze.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me._

There was a light, there was an actual light at the end of the tunnel. How in Merlin's name had he not noticed that before. With narrowed eyes he studied the blinding light before shrugging. What could go wrong.

He clumsily floated forward using a light breaststroke to move, Harrys intentions of going into the light grew stronger as he closed in on the mass of white, as if he was being compelled.

He paused, looking down at the bony, pale hand that had captured his wrist and groaned. _Not again._

A croaky voice whispered in his ear,

"You cannot escape Death, Master"

Harry rolled his eyes, quietly muttering under his breath,

"I can damn well try"

Harry turned, wrenching his hand from Death's grip, and stared impatiently at the squirming shadows of the hood covering his face, if he even had one; Harry thumbed at the idea that Death could only have a skull under his hood like the pictures depicted.

A moment of silence passed between them before Death finally gave a reaction and tilted his head questionably. Harry groaned,

"What do you want?"

Death stood silently, frozen like a statue, a good one at that, gazing at him creepily. A few uncomfortable minutes passed, only breaking when Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"You have yet to answer my riddle, Master"

Confused, Harry just stared at him stupid and reluctantly asked,

"What riddle?"

"A murderer is condemned to death. He must choose one of the three options given. May he be warned as in the first there dwell the long passed. May he be ready as the second is a wildcard, vast and unpredictable. May he be brave, as the third could be a start to his ending."

It took him an embarrassingly long time before he remembered why the riddle sounded familiar, and even longer to realise that the riddle was about him. Harry stared at Death tiredly, and whined,

"Do I have to answer?"

"It would be rude not to Master, would it not?"

Death flicked his hand and Harry could hear the sound of wind behind him. He whirled around to stare at the two tunnels that had appeared on each side of the one he had originally planned on jumping into. They were both a dark purple in colour, and the tendrils of colour seemed to squabble with the mesh of wriggling shadows,

Death stood beside Harry and croakily spoke,

"You must choose one, Master"

Harry tried to refuse, only to be urged forward until he was uncomfortably close to all three.

He glanced at Death with a look that conveyed tiredness and a face that shouted 'I'm too old for this shit' but Death only gestured to the portals.

Harry sighed, turning back to the portals, of course even in death he couldn't be left alone. Harry closed his eyes, pointing his index finger at what he thinks is the first portal and speaking the song he had heard nearly all the children at muggle school sing,

"Eney, meeny, miny, moe..."

Death sighed, raising a hand to pinch his nose, he had to mentally remind himself that he cannot eat his Master.

When Harry opened his eyes again, his index finger had stopped and pointed towards one of the swirling masses that Death had conjured. Death stalked closer to Harry and whispered in his ear,

"May he be brave, as the third could be a start to his ending."

Death gently pushed Harry forward and Harry gulped before gathering all the Gryffindor braveness he had to take the final lunge and being absorbed into the portal.

-_-

It was loud and cold and for a moment he thought it was just one of those days in Azkaban where he didn't have the will to wake up; but that couldn't be. Behind his eyelids all he could see was orange as a bright light was directed at his face and he knew Azkaban had no windows, and certainly no light.

He felt dread settle in his stomach.

Where was he?

It came back to him in bits, he remembered the iciness seeping into his skin after being kissed by the dementor, his 'lovely' chat with Death about a riddle, and then he was jumping into something purple that moved similar to a whirlpool.

Death said something beforehand, but he struggled to remember it, thinking hard enough to warrant a headache.

A sharp movement startled him, and Harry tried opening his eyes to figure out where he was, but they felt grungy and sticky, like glue had been poured over his eyelids.

He tried relying on his ears and it did wonders to ease some of his panic but only succeeded in confusing his already muddled thoughts. Harry could hear soft murmurs around him, nothing he could define, and someone quietly sobbing with something that sounded a lot like cooing mixed together.

Suddenly, he was wrapped in warmth, and it was the warmest he had felt in years; for a moment he almost forgot that he was in a mysterious place that defiantly was not Azkaban, wrapped in a soft, plush blanket.

Oh, how he had missed these, he even missed the old ratty blanket that Aunt Petunia had reluctantly gave him when he had the flu.

Questions still lingered in his head, where was he? Finally, another sharp movement forced his eyes open and he cried out when all he could see was white. Thankfully, the white was blocked by something-or someone.

Staring down at him was the blurred figure of his supposed-to-be dead mother, her soft ginger hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves and her green eyes stared down at him with fat tears rolling down her flushed cheeks.

Harry felt his jaw drop from the shock and, to his immense embarrassment, a high wail escaped him, piercing the blinding white room that, upon closer inspection, Harry knew was St. Mungos. Still reeling from the shock, his, supposed to be dead dammit, father entered his line of sight.

Harry was manoeuvred not so easily until his face was closely pressed against his mother's breast. _What the hell did they think they were doin-_

_Oh_

_Oh hell no._

This was not happening, Harry refuses to be breast fed from his dead mother! He was 38 years old for fucks sake.

No matter how much the midwives or his mother tried to get him to suck on the teat, he refused. Harry heard his father chortling, calling him a 'stubborn brat like his dad' but Harry couldn't care less what the zombie said right now.

Luckily, for him anyway, his mother wasn't happy at finding out she had to stay the night, the midwives gave up on trying to breast feed him and handed his mother a bottle which he begrudgingly took.

_It was better than breast feeding._

Harry must've blanked out after being fed, he won't accept that he had nodded off like a baby, because when he became more aware there were others crowding the room.

Harry immediately recognised Padfoot and Moony and unfortunately, Wormtail, he hissed the name inside his head, he assumed that the woman with her nose pointing to the ceiling was Minerva McGonagall...

Before he could continue listing the names of the people, he was manhandled into frail, old arms. Harry looked up and, again, wailed.

Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Fucking Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's long whitened beard tickled his skin and he choked as a few strands got caught in his mouth, but he continued wailing. Harry loathed the man with every inch of his being, which wasn't very much now, but still!

Seeing him, alive at that, the memories flooded his vision as fresh as the day they happened.

Harry decided that eventually someone would want him to shut up and take him from the arms of this dick, so he wailed and wailed and wailed, no matter what Dumblefuck did to try to calm him it didn't work, causing a conundrum in the room as once Harry was in the arms of Padfoot he quieted.

Padfoot looked different from when Harry had seen him last, falling into the veil, his eyes were alight with life and happiness, not barley-controlled bloodlust, and his hair was straight and reached the middle of his neck, unlike the curly mess of black and grey strands he had before. Harry thought he saw tears in his eyes, but it must've been a trick of the light.

Harry was handed around the entire room like a parcel, it was nauseating and so when Dumbledore persuaded his father to let him hold him again to see if he had calmed down, he decided after very little debating to happily throw up on his purple-red-orange monstrosity. Honestly it looked better, he had done the old coot a favour.

Wormtail, thankfully, had not had the guts to hold him. _Coward_ , Harry snickered.

When the novelty of a new baby, him, wore off everyone slowly departed the room except him and his mother. His father had put up quite the show at being forced to leave the room after visiting hours, but the short, rounded midwife wasn't having any of his bullshit.

Harry finally breathed in the situation he was in, he was back in 1980, a small, pinkish and helpless baby.

Right now, Harry wished Voldemort had killed him.

-_-

Apparently, it was because he was Master Of Death, or that's what Death said.

Harry was still furious at the giant shadow but that soon turned into morbid fascination when a bony skull loomed over his frail, baby body and spoke in a deep, somewhat croaky voice. Death managed to answer most of his questions without Harry even asking him, Harry pondered on the thought that Death could read minds.

Now _that_. That would be cool.

"As the Master Of Death, when you die you get three choices, one, to enter the afterlife with no guarantee of seeing ones that have long passed, two, to enter an alternate dimension with an unpredictable time stamp, or three, to go back in time and start all over."

Death paused,

"As you were not in a good state of mind, I manipulated the whirlpool to what I think you would have preferred best."

Harry really wanted to murder Death, but you can't bring death to Death.

 _Unfortunately_ , Harry grumbled.

"As Master Of Death you have very little responsibilities that you will do as your body ages, feel free to do whatever you want in this timeline, I honestly don't care, but do try to send in a couple hundred souls a year because I have become incredibly hungry since my last master. You will be exempt from this for the first three years since, well, you are useless."

Out of the corner of his eye, his mother shifted and awoke groggily, rising from the bed,

"We will continue this conversation later"

Death quickly spoke, falling to the ground and being absorbed by the shadows, and once again he had left his stupid butterflies!

Lily came over and stroked his cheek with a single finger, it was kind of nice, Harry thought. Harry decided that he wanted to see what having parents were like this time round, that he would try his best to keep both Lily and James alive, and Sirius hopefully out of Azkaban.

-_-

Having Sirius over every day was a treat and never ceased to bring a smile to his chubby baby cheeks, despite this Harry happily threw baby food at him when Padfoots' tongue covered his entire body in slobber and spit.

Remus was gentle and handled him with care, reading to him a few of his favourite muggle authors like Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and finding soothing solutions when the teething started hurting like a bitch.

James on the other hand, Harry shuddered even thinking about it, would throw him high into the air and catch him. Harry always felt sick when he did this, and even though Lily, his darling mother, scolded James and hit him on the arm that wouldn't stop him.

Harry still hadn't made up a plan on how to save his parents and Sirius, basking in affection that didn't give him bruises, at least that was his excuse. You would think he'd have learned from last time, when it cost him something precious, but Harry didn't want to dwell on that now. He loved being baby.

That was until he saw Sirius cradling an almost empty glass of fire whiskey, oh how he had missed those, he thought staring wistfully at the full glass.

Suddenly, being a baby didn't look so good anymore.

-_-

Honestly, being in the nursery that his mother died in was understandably kind of creepy for Harry. He only remembered faintly what it looked like after Voldemort came and went to party town, there was scorch marks and ripped toy stuffing littering the floor it was nothing like the beautiful room he looked at now.

A large wooden crib pushed up close to the window, which shouldn't have been safe, but eh, wizards, toys strewn across the cabinets in sized order, no doubt Remus' influence, and a ceiling showing close resemblance to Hogwarts enchanted ceiling, but at night.

Harry thinks he could find peace here, even with the memories of his before life.

-_-

Harry startled awake when screams penetrated the supposed to be silent house. For a moment he freaked, thinking it was all a nasty dream and that a particularly daring dementor had played with his lack of family.

He heard a thump on the bottom of the stairs and realized with dawning horror that today was Halloween.

Harry suspects that his father has already passed, and he mourned the father that he's lost for a second time now. His mother, pale and on the verge of tears burst into the room, shoving anything she could against the door to ward away the threat, forgetting momentarily in her panicked state that she was a powerful witch.

Lily rushed over and he looked up at her with green eyes, he knew what was going to happen next, what he didn't expect happening was his mother slitting open her palm with a small potion knife and chanting, she kept chanting appearing to not hear the taunting voice that echoed from the stairs.

The slow creaks of the stairs as Voldemort stepped on each one mockingly seemed to startle her out of her stupor, she smiled at him, tears rolling down her cheeks and giving him a soft, final kiss on his forehead.

Her red hair flew as she turned and held herself bravely between the crib and the approaching dark lord, who, actually looked kind of hot, with his smooth, slightly waved chocolate brown hair, pale muscled body and those beautiful crimson, as red as blood eyes-

No, Harry.

With a start his mother started begging and pleading,

"Please! Please, have mercy!"

The handsomer version of Voldemort snarled at her in disgust,

"Move aside you stupid girl and I will spare your life, all I want is the child!"

"Please! I beg you, have mercy! Don't kill my baby!"

She was a blubbering mess, her face was flushed red from screaming and pleading for his life, and he just stood there, gripping the edges of his crib, and watched as the final moments of his mother's life unfolded and become clearer, clearer than it ever had with Dumbledick running the business.

 _She was trying to make him kill her_. Harry realised.

This was how the blood wards had formed, not through the power of love, and defiantly not from living with blood relatives for 11 years. It was a dark, very old ritual that killed the caster by draining every drop of blood in their body; and Harry didn't have to guess that his mother had glamoured herself to make it look like nothing but a killing curse when the, extremely late, cavalry arrived. 

Harry had to applaud his mother, it was one of the most painful spells in the world, right next to the cruciatus curse.

With a horrified scream his mother shot in front of the curse heading his way, falling ungracefully to the floor, dead and silent.

Harry stared up at his red eyes as Voldemort approached and pointed his wand at him. At that moment, a sharp wave of pain from teething hit him and Harry quickly latched onto the only thing he could bite on, which happened to be Voldemort's wand.

Harry didn't really care as he savagely chewed on the end of the yew wand, gripping it tight with his chubby fingers. Voldemort stared at the baby in bemusement and uttered the killing curse. Before startling backwards with a scream of defeat and pure rage as he crumbled to the floor.

Well that was a fail, Harry thought.


	2. A Little More...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Readers! 
> 
> I know that the last chapter said that chapter two would be posted in June but some complications came up that made me decide to put this work on hold temporarily. I won't be talking about this here as I'm sure you want to get on with the chapter, but please read the end notes for more information. 
> 
> Anyway on a lighter note, the clue last chapter: 
> 
> 2085 42118191252519’ - 23151512’19 1518168114175 - 81181825 20111519 1 12965
> 
> Decoded is this:
> 
> The Dursleys’ – Wool’s Orphanage – Harry Takes A Life
> 
> If you decoded it right, let me know in the comments, now onwards with the story.

The silence was deafening.

The smell of ashes penetrated the air, but Harry could have cared less when his head throbbed in pain, the stupid horcrux pulsed with unbridled energy, slithering its merry way into his soul to nap. 

For such a small cut it hadn’t stopped bleeding for at least an hour now and the blood had left his head feeling sticky and dry, no doubt matting and crusting his hair to his head.

All he could do was sit in his crib and stare unseeingly at the night sky magic'ed into the ceiling, he petted the soft stuffed animal next to him because it was fluffy, and no one would ever know. 

  
He wondered when the cavalry would arrive and take him away and he felt the chilling sense of fear invade his body. Even thinking of going to the Dursleys’ almost sent him into a panic attack; he would know, as it wasn’t the first panic attack. It had been a while since he’d had one though.

  
A loud bang startled him. He used all the strength in his hands to push his baby body to sit upright as a black blur entered the room and fell to the floor. Harry looked down and was sent reeling.

  
Was that Snape?!

  
Harry studied ‘Snape’ closely, it looked nothing like the greasy haired bat, dressed in all black potions professor he knew, this Snape was wearing fucking colours for crying out loud! Harry soon snapped out of his thoughts and while giving Snape a bit of time to mourn and hold his dead best friend in his arms for a couple of minutes, Harry begun to think of an idea to get himself out of here.

  
Wasn’t Snape a master occlumens? So, he’d definitely be able to detect if someone was trying to use legilimency on him, and it clicked.

  
Harry was a genius.

  
He picked up the stuffed animal beside him and lobbed it at the mop of greasy hair, the hair whipped around and stared directly at him, the tears trailing down Snape’s face noticeable under the light. Snape glared at him with ‘The Glare’ and Harry almost laughed at the familiarity of a life before everything went to shit. 

  
Harry quickly realised he needed to take the chance to use legilimency now and quickly concentrated hard on controlling it wandlessly and silently.

  
He knew the moment he entered Snape’s mindscape as it was a feeling of lightness in his body that made him think he could just float away.

  
_Snape?_

  
He saw Snape whip his head around, startled at the voice that came out of nowhere,

  
_Snape!_

  
Finally, Snape’s eyes landed on him and after gently placing his dead mother onto the he walked slowly towards the crib and raised him up until he was eye level with the potion’s professor.

  
Snape stared at him like an idiot for a few second, and Harry quickly took the chance,

  
_Snape get me out of here before Sirius arrives!_

  
Snape stared some more before shaking his head and muttering under his breath,

  
“I’m going crazy”

  
Before placing him back in his crib. Harry cried out in desperation, this was his only chance, he tried to get Snape’s attention again but failed and soon enough the sound of another person entering the house came from downstairs.

  
Snape quickly apparated away and tears begun to roll down Harry’s because now he had no plan and no way to escape the Dursley’s. This was his chance to start new, live the life he had wanted before and now it was just going to end up being exactly the same.

  
Why? Why couldn’t he just have a normal life, why couldn’t he have parents and friends that like hanging out with him and not being paid to? Why couldn’t he grow old with a wife or husband that didn’t want him just to raise their social standing? Why couldn’t he have children that live past the ages of 14 and a family who loves him?

  
Why couldn’t he just be himself?

  
Harry sighed and sniffed his nose, thumping down hard on the cribs’ mattress, he resigned himself to this life…again.

  
Sirius stumbled into the nursery, his eyes crazed and tears running down his cheeks. His eyes zoomed in on Lily, dead on the floor but immediately changed to him when he sniffled.

  
Harry took a real good look at Sirius and saw a craziness in his eyes that he had never seen before. A memory of a conversation with Lady Walburga came to mind, when she told Harry that her son could deny it all he wanted but the Black madness inside him would always be there just waiting to rise and reveal itself.

  
Harry saw it then, for definite.

  
And he was relieved. At least now when he grows up and eventually kills Dumbledore, Sirius wouldn’t be torn between the two, he would always take his side, Harry was sure of it.

  
Sirius stalked towards the crib and hesitantly smoothed the back of his rough palm against his head, he pulled it away to see red blood covering the back of his palm and Harry saw his eyes darken and a deep growl echoing in the room.

  
When Harry saw Sirius’ nose flare he knew that he could smell Wormtails trace and knew that he had betrayed them and he looked towards the door, Harry was torn as to what to do. Eventually, as Sirius’ prepared to leave, Harry panicked, and gripped onto Sirius’ finger, sniffling louder than he did before to capture his attention and hopefully entice Sirius to stay here. 

  
But if he stayed here, Harry had to make sure that Sirius wouldn’t hand him over to Hagrid when he comes and raise him like he was supposed to the first time round.

  
Sirius looked at him again and Harry thought with relief that he had finally done it, but Sirius looked at him sadly and whispered,

  
“I love you, pup” 

  
Before making his way towards the door. Harry wailed, hoping that Sirius would feel guilty and come back, but Harry knew that Sirius had already made his choice.

 

Harry was frustrated, and he cursed Death for this, what was the point of sending him back in time if he couldn’t even change anything, Harry would have preferred to go to the afterlife so he could see his children again.

  
Sirius looked even more torn at that and kept looking between the door and Harry, but then Hagrid came bustling in and Sirius patted Hagrid on the arm and said, he had something to take care of and watch after Harry. Hagrid said that he’d take Harry to Dumbledore and to hopefully stop the bleeding from his head. Sirius, feeling relieved and that Harry was in good care, left; leaving Harry with the feeling of dread as Hagrid used his stupid pink umbrella to cast the spell to put him to sleep.

  
Harry’s last thought before sleep overtook him was calling and begging for Death to come and take him away, asking him why? Why? Why?

 

-_-

 

When Harry woke up next, a fast breeze was blasting at his face and an overload of senses and sounds rushed into his ears and nose. Harry realised very quickly that he was in the air, on Sirius’ motorcycle to be more precise, with Hagrid.

  
On his way to the Dursleys’, Harry thought.

  
When they landed it was rough and the bump almost made Harry sick, but it could also have been because in the corner of his eye he saw one Albus fucking Dumbledick standing on the lawn of 4 Privet Drive with Minerva McGonagall.

  
Dumbledore was wearing fucking ridiculous clothing as always.

  
Harry felt himself being picked up by Hagrid and quickly closed his eyes and pretended to sleep so he could listen in to the conversation. Maybe he could also use this against them when he eventually kills Dumbledore again.

  
“Hagrid” 

  
Dumbledore sounded relief and Harry bet he was, it wouldn’t do good to have his pig for slaughter dead before he was ready to sacrifice him, would it,

  
“At last. And where did you get that motorbike?”

  
Yes, Hagrid where did you get that motorbike, thought Harry, Sirius certainly didn’t say you could borrow it,

  
“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Young Sirius Black lent it me”

  
Liar, Harry drawled.

  
Harry felt the jostle when Hagrid stood up off the bike and moved closer to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing,

  
“I’ve got him, sir.”

  
“No problems, were there?” Said Dumbledore, sounding sceptical. 

  
“No, sir – house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles’ started swarmin’ around. He fell asleep as we flyin’ over Bristol.”

  
Merlin, Harry thought, he didn’t realise that Hagrid had been such a big fucking liar, Harry was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt since he was just blinded by Dumbledore’s’ manipulations. Oh well, another on the kill list. Harry didn’t believe for a second he fell asleep the first time around either, Hagrid was a fucking horrible driver.

  
Harry felt two warm breaths on his face and he almost flinched at the horrible smell, like rotten eggs and sour sweets, but held himself and pretended to be nothing but a sleeping baby.

  
“Is that where -?” McGonagall asked, no doubt pointing at his scar.

  
“Yes” said Dumbledork. “He’ll have that scar for ever”

  
“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?” McGonagall asked,

  
Harry knew he could do something about it, his scar only ever stayed because it was deep enough and left unattended, Voldemort didn’t even give him the scar, he got it banging his head on his cot when Voldemort startled him awake, he had managed to ignore it until later because of the adrenaline and the piece of Voldemorts’ soul that was now resting within him just used it as easy access. 

  
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground.”

  
Harry really wanted to know how he talked McGonagall in leaving a baby with blood crusted in his hair and a wound still bleeding unattended, for what, just because the scar would be useful when he’s older? They should think Voldemort was gone forever what the hell would he use the scar for?

  
“Well – give him here, Hagrid – we’d better get this over with.”

  
Harry felt himself being handed into old, frail arms and resisted the urge to shiver in disgust, and what the hell did Dumbledore mean, ‘we’d better get this over with’, what the hell was the old man going to do next other than stroke his beard and pat his back for a job well done, wank? Harry bet the old coot couldn’t even get it up anymore especially when he was already losing his marbles.

  
Harry felt Dumbledore walking and knew with a sinking feeling it was towards the door of the Dursleys’.

  
“Could I – Could I say goodbye to him, sir?”

  
No, Harry thought, no, no, no, Hagrid if you kiss me I swear to Merlin-

  
A big scratchy, whiskery kiss landed on his forehead and Harry swore to everything in his body he had never felt more disgusted than the smell of whiskey and ale on his forehead, the bastard.

  
Harry flinched suddenly when Hagrid let out a yowl and he sounded like a dog when you stepped on its tail.

  
“Shhh!” McGonagall whisper shouted, desperately trying to shut Hagrid the fuck up.

  
“You’ll wake the Muggles!”

  
Hagrid sobbed and blew his nose in what Harry assumed to be a handkerchief,

  
“S-s-sorry,”

  
His voice begin to grow muffled, and Harry wondered if McGonagall had actually shoved the handkerchief in his mouth to keep him quiet, Harry knew she didn’t but that didn’t stop him from being amused at the thought,

  
“But I c-c-can’t stand it – Lily an’ James dead – an’ poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -”

  
McGonagall sighed exasperatedly and patted his arm,

  
“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,” McGonagall whispered,

  
Harry felt himself being plunked down onto the stone doorstep, and a letter being placed on his body, it itched his skin and he wanted to scratch it so bad, but he couldn’t with Dumbledore as close as he were. Harry wanted to remain under the radar as long as possible.

  
The roar of the motorbike echoed the skies as Hagrid took off, Dumbledore spoke,

  
“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” 

  
And after blowing her nose, McGonagall took off to.

  
Harry only saw orange behind his eyes for a moment as Dumbledore did something to make all the streetlights turn back on, Harry heard a whisper from Dumbledick which suspiciously sounded like,

  
“Good luck, Harry”

  
Harry was then left alone.

  
He opened his eyes and felt tears well up in them, he hated that he was this emotional, he hated Death for making him choose, he hated Dumbledore for leaving him with them, he hated Sirius for choosing to avenge his parents over taking care of Harry and he hated his parents for leaving him all alone again.

  
In anger, Harry banged his fist against the edge of the basket they had placed him in, and his shock turned into a thoughtful look when it rocked slightly. Harry shoved his entire body up against the cradle and almost laughed when it shovelled closer to the edge and almost off the doorstep.

  
Once more, Harry shoved his body against the cradle, and he went toppling down onto the hard concrete. Harry ignored the scratches and scrapes on his hands and knees, Harry was so relieved that he almost cried and this time he wasn’t angry about that.

  
Now with a new sense of determination, baby blue blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders like a cape and the letter Dumbledore left shoved loosely in the back of his nappy Harry crawled away, away from the torture and the abuse he wouldn’t have to suffer through again and away from 4 Privet Drive.

  
          -_-

  
Harry, once upon a time, which was really only about three hours ago, thought that getting away from the Dursley’s was the best thing that ever happened to him.

  
Now, as the rain poured in the streets of London, pavements and roads bare and empty of any other humans, Harry was cold, coughing and sore. He had been crawling across the filthy streets for almost four hours, his knees and hands had bled so much that the only thing that left was tiny little dribbles. 

  
Harry didn’t even really have a destination to head too, he couldn’t really go anywhere as a baby, but he knew he would need someone taller to get things done for him.

  
Well, there was one place, but no; if Voldemort was raised there and turned into a grumpy noseless bastard it probably wasn’t good housing for a small child.

  
But what other options did he have, he knew that there was only one Orphanage here in London and it  was most likely to have been shut down.

  
Harry sighed and took his chances,

  
Wool’s Orphanage, here he comes.

  
          -_-

  
Miss. Hornley could have killed her mother in law, after dying all that she had left for her darling husband was this old rodent ridden orphanage.

What the hell was she supposed to do with this.

  
She knew the Coles’ weren’t a very rich family, but they were still higher than lower class citizens. 

  
Oh well, she supposed.

  
She decided to look on the bright side of things, maybe if she fixed this place up she had good chances to meet celebrities and rich couples looking for an adorable baby and she would help them, and they would remember her forever for gifting them their precious bundle of joy.

  
Now, where to find kids.

 

_-_

  
Harry’s arms buckled beneath him, tired and exhausted from his journey, he blinked sluggishly at the streetlamp. The letter shoved in the side of his nappy itched so badly, he knew already that paper cuts littered his butt. His limp arms lifted tirelessly and removed it, letting the wind blow it away and hopefully into the pits of hell. 

  
Before Harry knew it, he had nodded off, on the cold concrete floor, illuminating by the light of a streetlamp and wrapped in a blood stained blue blanket.

  
Jostling slightly at the sudden movement, Harry awoke, he found himself cradled in the arms of a burley man who smelled of cheat cigarettes and sugared donuts, Harry’s stomach growled, what he wouldn’t give for food right now. The man was wearing what looked like a police uniform, and Harry almost shouted in joy.

  
Finally, he was getting somewhere, this policeman would take him to the orphanage, and he would never have to see the Dursley’s again.

  
With a sudden thought however, Harry considered slapping himself.

  
There had been a police station only thirty minutes away from 4 privet drive, why didn’t he go there in the first place? Dumbass.

  
Looking around, this place was devoid of any houses and the shops that lined the street were shady or closed, it was abandoned and almost as bare as Voldemort’s nose.

  
Key word, almost.

  
The orphanage stood tall and loomed a dark shadow, it was a sight for sore eyes and hard to miss as it was dead centre in the middle of this devoid town, Harry could already understand why Voldemort had become what he was, the wizard had to be bloody merlin if he survived through this type of torture. Harry spotted a couple of children running around, playing a more vicious game of tag. 

  
Where if you get tagged, you get pushed into a pile of dog shit.

  
Yikes, Harry shuddered, it was a good thing he had magic.

  
The policeman trotted up towards the steps, panting heavily, his pot belly jiggling against Harry’s body, someone didn’t regularly get exercise, and opened the door.

  
It creaked ominously as they entered,  the maiden walked towards them, Harry snickered at the karma, as the woman was wearing ten different shades of yellow and smiling brightly, but underneath all of that Harry could tell, from experience, the façade was sloppy at best, but the policeman seemed to be enchanted by her presence.

  
“Good evening miss, I believe I have a new resident for you here”

  
The policeman stuttered, staring at the maiden with eyes filled with wonder and awe at her beauty. The maiden looked down upon Harry with eyes that looked almost serpent like, a plan hatching behind those blue orbs of hers. She pursed her lips, pushing away the blue blanket covering his face and staring into his eyes like she was searching for something. 

  
She hmmed and muttered a low “You’ll do” before taking him into her arms. Clearly she had never held a baby before, her hold was too tight, squeezing his fragile body and causing aches to appear on the back of his neck.

  
“Thank you officer, you don’t know how much it pains me when I see little babies like this coming through these doors.”

  
The woman looked down in fake sorrow at Harry before looking back up at the empathetic officer, who looked up quickly from staring at her breasts and stuttering out a reply,

  
“Yes ma’am, it is”

  
The woman sighed,

  
“Any information on this little cherub”

  
“No miss, only this envelope blowing around in the wind, it might not have anything to do with the kid but it’s something at least, until we search him down at the station”

  
Th woman took the envelope in one hand, holding Harry with the other and causing him to wince when his soft skin was pinched with her gripping fingers. She opened it gracefully with a pink painted nail, reading it through before looking down upon him.

  
A smile so dark twisted itself on her face, and she hums ever so slightly. Waving her hand, two other maidens came and ushered the police officer out the door as he looked longingly towards the maiden. 

  
They walked slowly up the creaking steps and then down into the dark, grey corridor, eerily enough it reminded him of the halls of Azkaban. They entered a room, the screaming of other babies filled the room, bursting his ear drums, unused to the noise from such a long time away from screaming. She placed him somewhat gently into an old creaky, wooden crib that looked like it would break if he was even a slightly bit bigger. 

  
Leaning over him, her blonde hair smelling strongly of cheap perfume as it fell into his face,

  
“Well, I’d say a welcome is in order, Harry Potter”

  
 _-_

 

The maiden believed that this Harry Potter would be her saviour, he was such a pretty baby with nice black curls and the cutest set of green eyes she had ever seen, but parents for some reason just didn’t like being near him, or even look at him for that matter. 

 

‘He’s just a little bit too creepy, the way he stares at us like he knows something we don’t’

 

‘He looks a little weird, don’t you think? I don’t want to bring home a deformed baby for my husband’

 

Soon enough, she also so the strangeness of the boy. The way he would often glare ever so slightly at anyone, how he never cried; just sat there as if he had nothing better to do.

  
Babies were not supposed to be like that Potter boy, they were supposed to be cute, innocent and giggly, not have that sinister look in those green orbs of his.

  
The maiden made it her goal to stay as far away from the boy as possible, however it was no longer an option when he begun to grow and mature. 

  
By age one, he was reading books that were better suited for primary school kids.

  
By age two, he was speaking fluent English, with a slight lisp on some words.

  
By age three, he was stealing older orphans’ schoolwork and completing it better than they ever could.

  
He was becoming too much of a problem for her to handle. 

  
She thought back to little Gavin Jones, a boy roughly the same age as Harry, who had had stolen one of the boy’s reading books, not that she ever did anything about it, even talking about the boy was too close for her comfort. The next day, however, Gavin was found hanging over the stairs with a thin rope wrapped around his neck, still sluggishly bleeding from the cute littering his body and entirely bare from clothes. 

  
Everyone was on edge, thinking that an adult had broken in and murdered the boy, but she knew better, for the next day Harry was sitting at the table for breakfast, his stolen reading book in hand and blood crusted under his fingernails, with rope burns across the palms of both hands.

  
She refused to let him get away with the murder of that poor little boy but knew if she had gone to the police they would have declared her insane instead of catching the real killer. She give him piles upon piles of chores, which were done flawlessly, had taken away his reading books only to hand them back once the furniture begun shaking and had, as a last resort, locked him up an old cupboard she had found, with sharp screws and dripping pipes lining the walls and floors.  
This was as much as she could do, swallowing down her fear of the boy and punishing him. She endeavoured to keep the rest of the children safe, warning them away from the boy and soon enough he was outcasted among the entire orphanage, no child would ever go near him, to her knowledge anyway; she knew that some of the children would push him around a bit. 

  
She kept him locked away when parents opened the doors of her orphanage and warned her husband to never come near. 

  
This was all she could do.

  
But looking down upon the pamphlet, a pamphlet for a church east of here, offering free exorcisms, perhaps she could do a little more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will always love this story because it was my first fanfiction but lately my interest for writing Harry Potter has dwindled, I have tried writing this for months before I decided it was good enough and I think I just really need help in finishing the story. I am not abandoning the work or putting it up for adoption, but I would appreciate anyone who is willing to help me. I don't know when chapters will be posted but I can promise you that one day whether it's this year or three years from now this story will be completed.
> 
> Any constructive criticism is appreciated but please don't be unnecessarily rude. Thank you for reading.


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